Ramón was very, very still. “Cariña? You think I’d desert you? Do you think I’m that dishonorable?”

“No.” But she couldn’t bear him to stay out of pity and a sense of honor. She lifted her chin. “I just don’t want you around.”

He laughed shortly. “I can disprove that in thirty seconds. All I have to do is carry you up the stairs to your bedroom.”

Dear Reader,

I had been planning to write a GP book. I’d even written the first three chapters. But then Ramón Martínez walked into my head and insisted I write his story instead. What could I do but agree?

He was so sexy that he struck me as the kind of man who could make an icemaiden weak at the knees, so I set him up with Jennifer Jacobs, a woman with a past she wanted to keep secret. After an unhappy marriage, she planned never to get involved with anyone again. Ramón had other ideas, and he managed to charm down every single barrier Jennifer put in his way. (Frankly, if a man with a good voice serenaded me in a sexy Spanish whisper and fed me chocolate, I’d be melting, too!)

Ramón is probably the nearest I’ll get to writing an alpha hero. But he doesn’t have that hard edge—in fact, he’s an absolute softie at heart. He also has a slightly outrageous side….

I hope you enjoy their story and have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at www.katehardy.com or www.millsandboon.co.uk!

With love,

Kate Hardy

The Spanish Consultant’s Baby
Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

COVER

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘HE’S gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous,’ Meg said. ‘Tall, dark and handsome—and a smile to die for! When he looks at you, he makes you feel as if you’re the only one in the room. And his voice…ooh, it’s like melted chocolate.’

Jennifer smiled wryly. Anyone would think Meg was a teenager, not a mum of three and just about to become a grandma for the second time. ‘So you liked him, then?’ she deadpanned.

‘You wait till you meet him, JJ. He’ll melt your heart.’

Jennifer doubted that. She’d spent too many years insulating it—and with good reason. The only male who melted her heart was her cat, Spider. And she intended it to stay that way. ‘As long as he knows his stuff,’ she said. ‘We can’t afford to carry a lightweight who spends all his time charming the nurses.’

Meg blinked in surprise. ‘Wow. Who’s rattled your cage this morning?’

‘No one,’ Jennifer said lightly. ‘But you’re supposed to be off duty in three minutes and we still need to do the handover.’

‘Yeah, of course.’ Meg smiled and started going through the list of patients with Jennifer.

Jennifer forced herself to concentrate on the handover, though a part of her mind couldn’t help wandering. Panicking. Don’t be so silly, Jennifer Jacobs, she told herself sternly. You haven’t met Ramón Martínez yet. Meg likes him. He’s probably really nice.

And yet she couldn’t help it. Even ten years after Andrew, she found herself on the defensive whenever she met someone new—correction, someone new who happened to be male. And every time she had to remind herself that not all men were like Andrew, that she knew plenty of nice men. It was a gut reaction that she couldn’t quite overcome, despite the counselling she’d had.

‘Earth to JJ,’ Meg said, waving a file at her.

‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

‘Dreaming about our hunky Spaniard?’

Jennifer scoffed. ‘I’ve only got your word for it on the hunkiness issue.’

Meg grinned. ‘Believe me, any woman under ninety would get palpitations just from looking at him.’

‘Better alert the cardiac ward, then.’ Jennifer smiled to take the sting from her words and gave Meg her full attention while they finished the handover. ‘Right—you have a good couple of days off, Meg. See you on Friday.’

‘I will. Oh, and Ramón will be with Stephen Knights,’ Meg said, referring to the baby who’d come in for an operation on a cleft palate. ‘He should be back from Theatre any minute now.’

‘I’ll keep an eye out for him,’ Jennifer said. Time to move on, she told herself as the other sister left the ward. It’s just another day. Another ordinary day. Ramón Martínez is nothing to worry about. And if he is a bulldozer, he’s only here for four months. Nothing that bad can happen in four short months.

She was steeling herself, ready to meet him, when Lizzy Bowers pushed past her in the corridor in floods of tears.

Jennifer picked up the couple of files she’d dropped, then followed in Lizzy’s wake to the toilets. Lizzy was leaning against the sink, sobbing. Jennifer balanced her files on top of the wastebin and put her arms round the student nurse. ‘Hey. It’s OK.’ Clearly it wasn’t—she would have said Lizzy was the least likely of her staff to burst into tears. But it wasn’t necessarily something to do with work. She knew Lizzy was going through a rough time at home; maybe she’d had the news she’d been waiting for but praying not to hear. ‘What’s happened?’ Jennifer asked gently.

‘Dr Martínez…he was so angry with me. I didn’t mean…’ Lizzy hiccupped her way through a garbled explanation.

Jennifer squeezed her hand. ‘It’s just a simple misunderstanding. We’ll sort it out.’ Though her expression hardened. So much for her thinking she’d been unfair to Ramón Martínez. He’d just bawled out her best student in front of her patient’s parents. Whatever Lizzy had done, a public telling-off was completely unprofessional. And it was Jennifer’s job, as the senior sister on the paediatric ward, to make him understand that bullies would not be tolerated. Under any circumstances.

‘I…’ Lizzy was still shaking, still incoherent.

‘It’s OK. I’ll handle it,’ Jennifer said quietly. ‘Wash your face and take ten minutes out in the restroom. Have a cup of tea then if you’re ready to come back on the ward, that’s fine.’ She gave Lizzy a hug. ‘If you need some time off, just let me know and I’ll get a bank nurse in.’

‘Thanks, JJ.’ Lizzy gave her a watery smile. ‘I feel so stupid…’

‘You’re not stupid. You’re doing really well. You’re a final-year student, you still have things to learn, and you’re already worried sick about your aunt.’

‘I won’t let the team down.’

‘I know you won’t. And that’s what teams are for—to support each other.’ Jennifer gave her a wink. ‘Go get that cup of tea.’ She gathered her files together again and headed for the side room they’d allocated to Stephen Knights.

Standing next to the parents was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Meg’s description had hardly done him justice. Ramón Martínez was seven or eight inches taller than her own five feet six, Jennifer guessed. His white coat was a perfect foil to his olive skin and blue-black hair; he had broad shoulders, narrow hips and very long legs. He used his hands a lot when he spoke, she noticed. His eyes were dark and expressive.

But his mouth was the real killer. Generous and full, promising warmth and passion. Meg had been absolutely right about that smile—a smile to die for. For one intensely scary second, Jennifer even found herself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by that mouth. And then she stopped herself. No. She didn’t do kisses. She didn’t do dates. She didn’t do anything of the kind any more. Besides, this man had just reduced one of her staff to tears. He might be gorgeous to look at, but he was also arrogant and in dire need of a lesson in good manners.

‘Hello, Mandy. Hello, Paul,’ she said, walking into the room. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’ She ruffled the sleeping baby’s hair, then turned to Ramón Martínez. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Martínez. I’m Sister Jacobs. I’m sorry I wasn’t on duty when you joined us.’

Cool, controlled and terribly English, Ramón thought. And he hadn’t been prepared for her in the slightest. She was a completely ordinary woman—average height, average shape, light brown hair cut in an unassuming short style, grey-blue eyes. No make-up, dressed in a dark blue sister’s uniform and flat black shoes. She was nothing out of the everyday. So why had his heart rate just speeded up a notch?

Ridiculous, he told himself. He was here at the Bradley Memorial Hospital for a four-month secondment. A relationship of any kind would be short term and pointless. And even if he was prepared to think about it, it couldn’t be with someone he worked with. There would be too many difficulties. And then there was Sofía…No, it was all too complicated.

He’d expected the ward’s senior sister to be older than Meg—Meg herself had given him that impression—and this woman didn’t look much older than her mid-twenties. Clearly she had to be older, or she wouldn’t have the experience to do the job.

Automatically, his glance slid to her left hand. There was a slim band of gold on her ring finger. So she was spoken for. He was aware of the stab of regret for an instant before he banished it. ‘Good afternoon, Sister.’ He shook her proffered hand and lightning coursed through him. Hell. This was a complication he really, really didn’t need—especially as it was clearly one-sided. She didn’t look as if his touch had remotely affected her. He only hoped that this cool, calm nurse couldn’t read minds. If she could, he had a feeling she’d slap his face. Hard.

‘How did the operation go?’ she asked politely.

‘It was a success. I was telling Mr and Mrs Knights about the care their son needs over the next few days.’

He didn’t quite understand the look she gave him. Only that she was extremely angry with him—though this was the first time they’d met, so he couldn’t have done anything to upset her…could he?

‘I’ve stitched the palate back together in layers. There is one layer in the floor of the nose, then the muscles in the middle of the palate, and then the skin on the roof of the mouth,’ he said. ‘There are stitches in the roof of his mouth, but you can’t see them from the outside.’

‘You might see some red fluid coming from his nose and mouth,’ Jennifer added, ‘but that’s very common after an operation like this and nothing to worry about. If you see anything that looks like pus or any real redness around the stitches, that’s a different matter, but we’ll be checking him every couple of hours to make sure there isn’t any sign of infection.’

She might be formal and cool with him, but she had a nice manner with the patient’s family, Ramón thought. Reassuring.

‘You mustn’t let the baby put his hands or anything hard in his mouth,’ he added. ‘If he keeps trying to scratch his mouth, we will need to use arm restraints to stop him.’

‘They look uncomfortable but they really won’t hurt him,’ Jennifer said. ‘But if he scratches his mouth, he might tear the stitches or cause an infection. If we have to use the restraints, he’ll probably be a bit grumpy, but just give him lots of cuddles and talk to him to take his mind off them.’

‘He shouldn’t be in much pain,’ Ramón said, ‘but if we think he is I can prescribe mild pain relief.’

‘What about eating?’ Mandy asked.

‘He needs small and frequent feeds,’ Ramón said. ‘He must have enough liquid or he will become dehydrated and develop a temperature.’

‘We recommend using a teat with a large cross-cut opening, so you get a steady flow of milk,’ Jennifer said. ‘Hold him on your lap so he’s semi-sitting and feed him slowly—then give him some water to help clean the inside of his mouth.’

‘He’s teething at the moment,’ Paul said. ‘He’s always chewing his fists.’

‘Sorry, but you can’t let him. He can’t use a teething ring for a while either,’ Jennifer told him. ‘Though you can rub his gums or use some teething gel.’

‘When can we take him home?’ Mandy asked.

‘In about a week,’ Ramón said. ‘We will check him over thoroughly before we discharge him. And he will need to see a speech therapist to check if he has velopharyngeal incompetence.’

‘It’s called VPI for short and it’s quite common in children with repaired cleft palates,’ Jennifer said. ‘All it means is that his soft palate is a bit short or doesn’t move enough, so too much air will escape through his nose when he speaks and he’ll sound nasal. The speech therapist can do quite a lot to help the condition.’

She was good with parents, and very knowledgeable. No wonder she’d made senior sister at a young age, Ramón thought. But he wished he had some idea why her eyes were looking daggers at him.

‘Can we stay with him?’ Mandy asked.

‘For as long as you like. Did Lizzy give you a card for the coffee-machine?’

Paul shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. We can take turns going down to the canteen.’

‘The machine isn’t that bad. I’ll get someone to bring you a card anyway. You probably remember the routine from the op on his cleft lip two months ago,’ Jennifer said, ‘but I’ll remind you anyway. There’s a phone for incoming calls at the end of Red Bay—the number’s on the wall above the phone if you need to give it to anyone—and there’s a payphone at the entrance to the ward.’

‘And don’t use a mobile, because it might interfere with the equipment,’ Mandy said.

Jennifer grinned. ‘Excellent. Well-trained parents. Just what we like to see.’

She was teasing them? Teasing the parents of a child he’d just operated on and who were clearly worried about their baby? Ramón was about to step in when he saw that Mandy and Paul were both laughing. The English had a strange sense of humour, he mused.

Though that grin…Lord, if she ever looked like that at him, he’d be a gibbering wreck. The smile turned her face from ordinary to stunning. And he wanted her. Badly.

And then Jennifer was speaking again. ‘If you’re worried at all about Stephen or you have any queries, just come and find me or one of the other nurses.’

‘Thanks.’ Paul smiled at her.

‘Do you have any other questions?’ Ramón asked.

‘Not right now,’ Mandy said.

‘Then I’ll leave you with your son.’

To his surprise, Sister Jacobs followed him. ‘I wondered if we could have a quick word in my office, Dr Martinez?’

She was very formal with him, he noticed—and yet she’d used first names with Stephen’s parents. The smile had gone, too. Ramón had a feeling he was just about to find out what had upset Sister Jennifer Jacobs. ‘Of course,’ he said politely, and walked with her to her office.

‘Do sit down,’ she said, indicating a seat next to her desk and closing the door behind them.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.

‘You.’

He blinked. ‘What?’

‘Lizzy Bowers. You bawled her out in front of Stephen’s parents and made her cry.’

He gave a short laugh of disbelief. ‘She was dropping things everywhere. When I asked her a question, she couldn’t answer because she hadn’t been listening to what I was saying. And I will not tolerate sloppy nursing, particularly with young children who have just come round from a general anaesthetic and whose parents are worried sick.’

‘Lizzy’s my best student—she’s in her final year, she’s passed her exams so far with flying colours and she’s very far from sloppy. And I, Dr Martínez, will not tolerate any doctor bullying my staff. You owe her an apology.’

Her voice was quiet and controlled—and absolutely implacable. This was a woman who didn’t need to shout to make her point.

But he had a point, too. A good one. He folded his arms. ‘Sister Jacobs, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. My patient comes first. And I expect any nurse on this ward to be competent.’

‘Lizzy is perfectly competent.’

‘Not from what I saw.’

‘At the moment she’s a little sensitive.’ Jennifer bit her lip. ‘Look, this isn’t common knowledge on the ward, so I trust you will keep what I tell you confidential?’

She’d phrased it as a question but he knew it wasn’t a request. He nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Her aunt has breast cancer. They’re waiting for a biopsy result to see whether it’s spread to the lymph nodes.’

‘And Lizzy’s close to this aunt?’ Ramón guessed.

‘Her aunt brought her up. So it’s more like a mother-daughter bond.’

Ramón nodded. ‘I didn’t know about her family problems. But my patients must come first. If she can’t concentrate on her job, she should take some time off.’

‘Keeping busy is the best thing you can do while you’re waiting for news.’

‘Not when it puts my patients at risk.’

‘Lizzy is a perfectly competent nurse,’ she repeated. ‘If you have an issue with her work, by all means talk to her about it—but in private. Not in front of patients, or their parents, or other staff. I expect my nurses to be treated with respect, as the professionals they are.’

Professional. That was it—the word he’d been looking for. Jennifer Jacobs was professional in the extreme. And he had a sudden wild urge to find out what she was really like. To find out what made her laugh. How her eyes would look in passion—would they turn blue or grey? What did she look like when she’d just been thoroughly kissed?

‘Dr Martínez?’

‘My name is Ramón.’

Melted chocolate. Oh, no. Jennifer wished Meg hadn’t said that. Because she had the most graphic vision of Ramón feeding her rich, dark chocolate, piece by piece, teasing her by stroking it over her mouth and moving it out of reach so she had to reach up for it. And then he’d reach down to kiss her, and—

No way was she going to call him Ramón. It was too close, too intimate, too… ‘Dr Martínez,’ she repeated, her mouth dry.

He gave her a quizzical look, and she only hoped he couldn’t read her mind. How could she tell him off for unprofessional behaviour when her own thoughts were even less professional?

‘Sister Jacobs,’ he said softly, ‘we’ve got off to a bad start.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll apologise to Nurse Bowers. But I’d like you to have a word with her, explain that if she doesn’t feel up to the job then she should take time off so the patients aren’t affected.’

‘I’ve already done that.’

‘I see.’ He folded his arms. ‘Then perhaps we can start again. I prefer to work with first names. You’re Jennifer, yes?’

She twisted the ring on her finger. Remember Andrew. Remember Andrew. ‘Yes.’ The word was virtually torn from her. She wanted to stay Sister Jacobs to this man. Aloof, remote, untouchable. Or even JJ, the nickname everyone else in the hospital used. But not Jennifer. It was too personal. Too dangerous.

‘And I’m Ramón.’ He stood up and gave her a formal bow. ‘I trust we shall work well together on my secondment to the Bradley Memorial Hospital.’

‘Brad’s.’

He frowned. ‘Brad’s?’

‘That’s what we call it. The hospital.’ Hell. Now she was babbling, and he’d think she was an idiot.

No. It didn’t matter what he thought of her. His opinion wasn’t important.

‘You cared for Stephen Knights the last time he was here?’

She blinked. The question had come out of left field. Or maybe she’d missed whatever he’d said before that. Ramón Martínez had thrown her completely off balance. Frighteningly so, because she’d sworn she’d never let anyone do that to her again. ‘Yes. I met his parents soon after Stephen was born. They came to see Dr Keller about the cheiloplasty—’ the operation to repair a cleft lip ‘—and he explained that Stephen also needed the operation to close the cleft palate, to help his speech and to separate the mouth and nasal cavities.’

‘And you tease all the parents the same way?’

Now she realised where he was coming from. He hadn’t liked the way she’d talked to the Knightses. ‘Each patient is different—and so are their parents. I teach my nurses to build relationships with the parents, to help them deal with what’s happening to their children. Some like to know every single thing that’s happening and to take on as much of the care for the child as they can, some like to joke to take their mind off their worries and some like to know the bare minimum and leave everything to the nurses. Mandy’s a joker and Paul likes to know exactly what to expect.’

He nodded gravely. ‘Now we understand each other.’

No. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t want to understand him. He was just a doctor, someone she had to work with for a little while. And that was the way he was going to stay.

‘I’ll apologise to Lizzy, Jennifer.’

‘Thank you.’ When he continued waiting, in silence, she knew what he was expecting. She forced the word out. ‘Ramón.’ It felt almost unbearably intimate, using his first name.

He gave her another of those formal bows and left her office. Still twisting her wedding ring, Jennifer watched him leave. She had to get her overreaction to this man back under control. And fast. Before it landed her in a heap of trouble she really, really didn’t need.

Ramón stared into his coffee. Nothing added up about Jennifer Jacobs. He’d watched her covertly on the ward and she’d been the perfect nurse. Efficient, caring, kind. Spending time where it was needed. He’d seen her sitting on the side of a child’s bed, soothing away tears, reading stories and chatting while she checked blood pressure and dressings and administered drugs. She never once raised her voice but he’d noticed that everybody always did whatever she asked them, without excuses or delays. She was clearly respected.

But who was she really? She had no family pictures in her office—no husband, no children, no parents, no siblings—and yet she wore a wedding ring. He couldn’t work her out. She wasn’t even his type—he liked fiery, beautiful Latin women, not quiet, unassuming English mice. And he definitely didn’t believe in getting involved with married women. So why couldn’t he get her out of her head?

Particularly when he remembered her sitting on the bed of one small child, holding his hand and stroking his hair and chatting to him until the fear had vanished from the little boy’s face. He’d seen the little boy hug her in relief, seen the warmth in her smile—a warmth he wanted directed his way, too. Yet the minute she became aware of his own presence, a wall seemed to go straight up. Why?

‘Hola, Ramón. Settling in OK?’

He looked up as Neil Burroughs, the paediatric special reg, sat down at his table in a quiet corner of the canteen. ‘Yes, thanks. But your coffee…’ He wrinkled his nose.

‘Try the hot chocolate. Though it’s a bit sweet.’

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,’ Ramón said dryly.

‘So you’ve met everyone on the ward now?’

Ramón nodded. ‘Meg showed me round this morning before I went to Theatre. And then Jennifer took over.’

‘Jennifer?’ Neil looked blank for a moment. ‘Oh, the redoubtable JJ.’

‘Why do you call her JJ?’

‘Her initials—Jennifer Jacobs.’

Ramón rolled his eyes. ‘We do have initials in Spain, mi amigo. No, I meant why call her that when her name’s Jennifer?’

‘We always have.’ Neil shrugged. Then he frowned. ‘You’re not getting any ideas about her, are you?’

‘No. I saw the ring. She’s married.’

‘Widowed,’ Neil corrected.

‘But…’ Ramón stared at him in shock. ‘She’s so young.’

‘She was really young when she was widowed. It happened just before she went into nursing, about ten years back.’

Widowed. Jennifer was a widow. Which meant she was…No. Not free. Which meant he should respect her status. He decided to change the subject—but his mouth had other ideas. ‘You called her “redoubtable”,’ Ramón said.

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. She’s an excellent nurse, brilliant with the kids and absolutely the best with students—she won’t stand for any nonsense but she’s got endless patience when it comes to explaining things. She’s just a bit…well, remote.’ Neil shrugged. ‘If someone organises a bit of a do, she always makes an excuse not to go.’

‘Maybe she just doesn’t like crowds.’ Maybe she preferred something more intimate. And Ramón thought he’d better change the subject right now before he disgraced himself.

Neil didn’t seem to notice. ‘You’re probably right. She sometimes goes out to the theatre or the cinema with a couple of the other nurses, but she keeps herself to herself.’

Mourning her husband, perhaps? But according to Neil it had been ten years since his death. And Jennifer was still a young woman. It would be a crime to let her stay buried in work, not living life to the full.

Though he really, really shouldn’t get involved. He was only here on secondment. And anyway he had Sofía to think of…

But just before Ramón went to sleep, that night, it was Jennifer’s face he saw. And Jennifer he dreamed about.

CHAPTER TWO

RAMÓN tried. He really, really tried to be professional in his dealings with Jennifer. But then he saw her with a small child whose parents had rarely visited. She was sitting in a chair with the child on her lap, reading a story and persuading the child to point out things in the pictures. In her lunch-break, he noted, when she really should have been taking some time out for herself.

She cared about her patients. She cared about her staff. So why didn’t she let anyone care about her?

He should walk away. Not get involved. He knew that would be the sensible thing to do. But ten minutes later, after she’d settled the child back in bed, he rapped on her office door and opened it.

She looked up from her desk. ‘Yes?’

‘May I have a word, please, Jennifer?’

‘Everyone calls me JJ.’

Everyone else might, but he didn’t. He wasn’t going to reduce a beautiful name to initials. She was fiddling with her wedding ring again, he noticed. Did she do that all the time, or was it just when he was around? He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. ‘Have dinner with me tonight, Jennifer.’

Oh, Lord. She’d heard those words before. Years ago. Then she’d said yes—and it had been the start of the worst mistake of her life. She’d learned her lesson in the hardest way. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Tall, dark, handsome and arrogant—assuming that, of course, she’d want to go out with him. Little mousy Jennifer, swept off her feet by the first man who’d paid her some attention.

Well, not this time. She didn’t make the same mistake twice. She’d learned a lot from her counselling and she wasn’t going back to being a victim. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘What’s the problem? The time? You’re busy tonight?’

‘What don’t you understand about the word “no”?’ she asked.

‘Your mouth is saying no,’ he said simply, ‘but your eyes are saying something else.’

Damn. He’d noticed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr Martínez,’ she lied.

‘Ramón,’ he corrected.

‘Ramón.’ It felt as if she were talking through a mouthful of treacle.

‘Why do you have such trouble saying my name?’

Her face heated. ‘I don’t,’ she protested.

‘You do. And not because my name’s Spanish.’

‘I’m sure you already have an opinion.’

He smiled. ‘I do. I think, Jennifer, that there’s something between us. Something you don’t want to acknowledge. And that’s why you have a problem saying my name.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Then say it.’ To her horror, he actually came to sit on the edge of her desk. Put one hand on her shoulder. Used the other to tilt her chin so she was looking up at him. ‘Say it,’ he coaxed.

It was the melted chocolate thing again. She’d bet he knew he was doing it. He probably did it to a dozen women an hour. She wasn’t special to him and she wasn’t falling for it. ‘Ramón.’

‘You’re blushing.’

‘Because you’re annoying me. You’re invading my space.’

He folded his hands in his lap. Even though he was no longer touching her, she could still sense the feel of his skin against hers. Feel the heat of his body. Imagine the warmth of his mouth.

This really couldn’t be happening.

‘If you were on the other side of the ward and my back was to you, I’d still know the moment you walked into the room,’ he said softly.

He said things like that to all the women. Of course he did. He was the sexy Spanish doctor, used to women falling at his feet. And yet what he’d said touched a chord in her. She’d know he was there, too. She was aware of him whenever he set foot on the ward.

‘Have dinner with me, Jennifer. Please?’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘Both,’ she muttered.

He tipped his head on one side. ‘Why?’

She wasn’t going to answer that one.

He tried again. ‘What’s so bad about having dinner with me? Or are all your restaurants as terrible as the hospital cafeteria?’

‘I prefer to keep my private life separate from work,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘I understand. Enjoy your lunch-break, Jennifer.’ And then he left, as abruptly as he’d walked into the room.

So he was going to leave her alone? He really wasn’t going to bulldoze her?

Her relief was short-lived. Because when she came back from lunch, there was a memo on her desk. A typed memo from the director of Paediatrics, saying that the hospital needed Jennifer, as a senior member of the nursing team, to help look after their seconded consultant. Ramón Martínez was a guest in their city and they should treat him accordingly.

In other words, she was supposed to show him around and have dinner with him, to make sure he was happy and gave his own hospital in Seville a favourable report on Brad’s. If he didn’t, the word would spread and Brad’s was unlikely to get any more seconded specialists. With the recruitment crisis in the health service, Brad’s depended on secondees to fill specialist roles. No specialists meant longer waiting lists, which upset the financial people, who’d say the departments hadn’t met their targets and would cut the budget even more. The vicious circle would go on and on and on…

She crumpled the memo with unusual force and hurled it at her wastebasket. The snake! He’d tried one way and it hadn’t worked. And now he’d pulled a few strings and manoeuvred things so she’d be forced to go out with him. Well, it wasn’t going to work. The next time she saw him, she’d tell him straight.

Except she couldn’t. Because the next time she saw Ramón, she was in Stephen Knights’s cubicle, writing down the results of his observations, and Ramón had just walked into the room. She could hardly pick a fight with him in front of parents. Instead, she gritted her teeth and carried on with her task.

‘Jennifer, may I see you for a moment, please?’

She bit back the ‘Go to hell’ that had risen to her lips. ‘Of course, Dr Martínez.’

This time, he didn’t nag her about using his name. He even flushed very slightly. So he must know he was squarely in the wrong, she thought grimly. She followed him into the day room.

‘Perhaps we could have coffee for the Harpers and juice for their daughter?’

So now he thought the role of a senior nurse was to fetch drinks? Her disgust must have been written all over her face, because he added, ‘Unless you think tea’s better for helping to break bad news.’

‘Bad news?’

He nodded. ‘Which is why I wish to see you.’

Surely he wasn’t going to claim that he needed her to act as an interpreter? Apart from the fact that she couldn’t speak Spanish, his English was excellent, with barely a trace of an accent.

‘You’re good with patients and their families. And I think Mr and Mrs Harper will need a lot of support.’

She frowned. ‘What is it?’

Without comment, he passed her a file. She opened it and glanced at the test results on the first page. ‘“45 XO.”’

‘Classic Turner’s syndrome,’ he confirmed.

‘Poor kid. Poor parents. Where are they?’

‘In the playroom, with their little girl, Charlotte. I’m going to take them to my office. It’s quieter there than in the day room.’

And more private. She nodded. ‘I’ll bring some coffee.’

‘Thank you, Jennifer.’

As soon as she walked into his office with the tray of drinks, he gave her a look of relief and introduced her to the Harpers.

‘And this must be Charlotte. I brought some juice for you, Charlotte,’ Jennifer said. ‘Shall we draw some pictures while your mummy and daddy talk to Dr Martínez?’ The little girl nodded shyly, and Jennifer handed round the coffees before settling herself on the floor with the little girl, a pile of paper and a box of crayons.

‘It’s Ed and Fran, isn’t it?’ Jennifer asked.

‘That’s right.’ Fran had a pinched look about her mouth. ‘So, what’s wrong with Lottie?’

‘It’s a chromosome abnormality called Turner’s Syndrome,’ Ramón said.

‘Like Down’s, you mean? But why wasn’t it picked up when she was born? Or when I was pregnant?’ Fran asked.

‘Not all antenatal tests screen for Turner’s syndrome,’ Jennifer said. ‘And unless she had a heart condition or showed any signs of puffiness in her hands and feet just after she was born, it’s not something that would be picked up until the age of around five or six. There are other signs—such as a short neck which looks webbed because of the folds of skin, low-set ears, short fourth toes and fingers, spoon-shaped soft nails and a low hairline—but unless your GP suspected Turner’s, no one would be actively looking for the signs.’

‘There isn’t any history of it in our family. Well, not in mine,’ Ed said, reaching out to take his wife’s hand and squeeze it. ‘We don’t know about Fran’s.’

‘I was adopted,’ Fran said.

Jennifer forced herself to smile. Adoption was common enough. Though Ed didn’t have that same look on his face as Andrew had always had when speaking of Jennifer’s lack of family.

Then she became aware that Ramón was speaking. ‘Turner’s syndrome isn’t a hereditary disease,’ he said. ‘It’s an accident that happens when a cell divides after conception and a chromosome is lost.’

Ed frowned. ‘So what does that mean?’

‘There are twenty-three pairs of chromosomes in the human body, and pair twenty-three is the one that decides if you are a girl or a boy. For a girl, chromosome pair twenty-three is XX, and for a boy it’s XY. The results of Charlotte’s karyotype—that’s what we call the chromosome analysis—show that her X chromosome is missing in number forty-five. So, instead of being XX, she’s just X.’

‘So that’s my fault?’ Fran asked.

If it had been Jennifer sitting there with Andrew, she wouldn’t have asked that question—because he would have made the accusation first. They didn’t know her background, so it was all her fault.

‘It’s nobody’s fault. The missing X can come from the father’s sperm or the mother’s egg. We don’t know which.’ Ramón spread his hands. ‘It happens in one in two thousand girls.’

‘What about boys?’ Ed asked.

‘A boy can’t have Turner’s syndrome,’ Ramón said quietly. ‘The Y chromosome can’t survive on its own, so the male foetus would be miscarried.’

‘But Lottie seems so normal. Just a bit shorter than the other little girls in her class.’ Fran sighed. ‘I thought the health visitor was making a fuss over nothing.’

‘No. With Turner’s syndrome, the gene responsible for long bone growth is missing, so without any help Lottie wouldn’t grow any taller than one metre forty-three—that’s about four foot eight,’ Jennifer said.

‘So she’s always going to be small?’ Ed asked.

‘She’ll always have Turner’s syndrome,’ Ramón said. ‘But we can help with the height. We can give her some growth hormone, starting around her sixth birthday, though it’s quite a long course of injections.’

‘And then she’ll be normal height?’ Fran asked hopefully.

‘A little shorter, but not as small as if she’d had no treatment at all. Provided the treatment is consistent, of course. If she starts missing injections, it won’t work as well. There’s also the possibility of using an anabolic steroid to boost her growth.’ Ramón shifted in his seat. ‘She’ll also need oestrogen treatment from around the age of thirteen.’

‘Why?’ Ed asked.

‘Nearly all girls with Turner’s syndrome have a problem with their ovaries,’ Jennifer said. ‘They don’t function, so Lottie won’t have periods or develop breasts if she doesn’t have oestrogen and progesterone treatment.’

Fran shook her head, clearly finding it hard to take in. ‘So she can’t have children?’

‘She may be able to, with IVF treatment,’ Ramón said. ‘But she needs oestrogen for another reason—without it, her bones won’t mineralise properly and she’s more likely to have osteoporosis when she’s older.’

‘There are side effects with oestrogen treatment,’ Jennifer added. ‘She might get headaches, feel bloated or a bit sick, but that will go away within a couple of weeks.’

‘But she’s not going to die early or anything?’ Ed asked. ‘Or be slow at school? Her teacher said she wasn’t good at building things, but we thought that was…well, because she was a girl. She’s never been into Lego or anything, not like our son.’

‘She’s not going to die early,’ Ramón said. ‘Not from Turner’s syndrome, at least. Her body doesn’t have any oestrogen, though, so she may have memory problems, and she’ll find maths and spatial tasks harder.’

‘But with support she can do well. There are support groups for families and we can put you in touch with them,’ Jennifer said. ‘Plus Lottie can come to a clinic here to smooth her path through to adolescence and adulthood.’

‘There are some things you need to watch for,’ Ramón said. ‘Girls with Turner’s syndrome have a lot of middle ear infections and that can lead to deafness, so you must take her to the doctor whenever you think she might have an ear infection.’

‘Regular hearing checks are a good idea, too,’ Jennifer added. ‘As well as checking her blood pressure. She’s also more likely to get diabetes and thyroid problems, but we can do regular checks at clinic.’

‘So where do we start?’ Fran asked.

‘We can book you into clinic and give you some leaflets about the condition from the support groups,’ Jennifer said. ‘You need some time to think about it, decide what you want to do and what’s best for Lottie.’ She gave the little girl a hug. ‘Well done, Lottie. Show Mummy what a lovely picture you’ve drawn.’

‘It’s me, you, Daddy and Raphie,’ Lottie said, handing her mother a piece of paper. ‘Our family.’

A tear trickled down Fran’s cheek. Jennifer stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know it’s a bit of a shock, but, honestly, Lottie can lead a perfectly normal life. As long as she’s got a family who loves her, she’ll be fine.’

A family who loves her. Something Jennifer had never had. She pushed the thought away. She didn’t need a family. She had the ward. And that was enough. It had to be.

If he didn’t get a move on, he’d miss her. Ramón stuffed his white coat in his locker, grabbed his briefcase and made his way to Jennifer’s office. It was empty. Maybe she was changing. He had no idea which way she’d go home—did she live near enough to walk, or did she park in the staff spaces next to the old Victorian entrance to the hospital?—but she would definitely have to go through the reception of the paediatric ward.

He lingered deliberately, pretending to check through some leaflets. And then the back of his neck heated. He turned round to find that his early-warning system was spot on. She was just leaving the ward.

Her out-of-uniform clothing was just as unassuming as he’d expected. A pair of jeans, a loose navy T-shirt and flat shoes. She was a million miles away from the fashion clotheshorses he’d dated in the past. And yet she still had the power to make his heart miss a beat. What was it about her?

As she pushed through the double doors, he fell into step beside her. ‘Jennifer, I didn’t have a chance to thank you properly for your help with the Harpers.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s my job.’

‘But it was appreciated.’

‘Fine,’ she said coolly.

‘Jennifer, is there a problem?’ he asked.

‘Only the memo I received this afternoon. I don’t like being manipulated, Ramón.’

She’d said his name without prompting this time. That was a good sign…but her eyes said otherwise. She was furious with him. ‘I didn’t mean to manipulate you.’

‘No? So you didn’t pull strings to get Pete to write that memo, then?’

He sighed. ‘How else was I going to persuade you to go out with me, except to treat it as work?’

‘By asking me.’

‘I did. You refused.’

‘Exactly. And don’t use that “I’m a lonely Spaniard in a strange city” line with me. You could have asked anyone else on the ward.’

‘True.’

‘So why didn’t you?’

‘Because I wanted you,’ he said softly.

‘Well, you can’t have me.’

‘Your blood sugar’s low.’

She frowned. ‘What?’

‘You’re grumpy. It’s a side-effect of low blood sugar—therefore you clearly need some food. Let me take you to dinner.’

‘I’ve already said no.’

‘So you’ll leave me stuck in my lonely hotel room?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not staying in a hotel. You’ve got a hospital flat.’

So she’d been interested enough to find that out. Good. That was a step in the right direction. He shrugged. ‘I’m still stuck on my own, in a place I don’t know.’ She didn’t utter a word, but her face said it all for her—she thought he was spinning her a line.

‘It isn’t a chat-up line,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t know your city. And…I could use a friend.’

She stopped dead. ‘Friend?’

‘Friend.’ He tucked her arm through his and continued walking, careful to match his stride to hers. ‘And friends have dinner together, do they not?’

‘Ramón, you’re bulldozing me.’

‘That expression isn’t familiar to me.’

She snorted. ‘Come off it. Your English is damn near perfect.’ His accent was so slight that it was almost undetectable. ‘This isn’t your first secondment abroad, is it?’

‘No,’ he admitted.

‘So where were you before?’

‘Have dinner with me and I’ll tell you.’

‘You’re infuriating.’

‘Are you stereotyping me, cariña?’

‘If you insist on behaving like a stereotype.’

The fire in her eyes was promising. More than promising. He gave her a mischievous smile. ‘Maybe I need you to teach me some manners.’

She tried to pull her arm away. ‘Leave me alone, Ramón.’

‘Have dinner with me,’ he coaxed. ‘Just as a friend. My treat.’

She was silent for a long, long time. He wasn’t sure whether she was going to argue with him or accept he’d outmanoeuvred her. To his relief, finally, she nodded. ‘All right. There’s a pub by the river. They do reasonable food. Though we’ll split the bill,’ she warned.

CHAPTER THREE

TWENTY minutes later, they were sitting on the pub’s terrace, overlooking the river. Ramón insisted on buying the drinks, so Jennifer accepted a sparkling mineral water. Ramón surprised her by choosing the same.

He looked up from his menu. ‘What do you recommend?’

‘Aren’t you going to order for me?’

He smiled. ‘Why would I do that when I don’t know your likes and dislikes?’

Andrew had always chosen for her, regardless. At the time, she’d thought it cherishing, that he’d been looking after her. It had only been when it had been much too late that she’d realised that hadn’t been his motive at all.

‘The salmon’s good,’ she said. ‘It’s local—comes from the farm down the road.’

‘Hmm. Poached in white wine, with dill. Is that what you’re having?’

‘Er…yes.’

‘Then I’ll join you.’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Let me guess. You only ever have two courses—if that.’

She flushed. ‘Am I that transparent?’

‘You look after others, but you neglect yourself,’ he said.

‘Whereas you would have three courses, I suppose?’

‘Four,’ he said, ‘if you count the tapas before dinner.’

Her flush deepened. ‘Sorry. I’ve obviously brought you to the wrong place.’

‘What could be more delightful than a summer evening in England next to the river?’ he asked. ‘Good food, pleasant surroundings and good company.’

She hadn’t exactly been good company so far. She’d been downright surly with him—because she was still annoyed with him for manipulating her into having dinner with him.

‘Are we having wine?’ he asked.

‘Not for me, thanks. I’ll be driving home. But don’t let that stop you.’

He flicked the wine list. ‘No, I think I’ll stick to water, too.’

‘Nothing Spanish there?’ The crack came out before she could bite it back.

He smiled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a little patriotic pride. We make good wines in Sevilla. Sherry, of course, plus Manzanilla and Montilla.’

‘You’re from Seville?’ From Andalucia. Andrew’s mother’s family had come from Castile. So maybe Ramón wasn’t another Andrew.

He nodded. ‘You know Sevilla?’

‘No.’ Andrew had never taken her to Spain. He’d fallen out with his late mother’s family many years before and the breach had been irreparable. In the early days she’d started learning Spanish in secret to surprise him, please him—but when she’d tried practicing her Spanish on him, he’d just criticized her accent and told her not to speak it in his house again.

His house. Not theirs.

Unlike her cottage, which he’d never set foot in.

Then she became aware that Ramón was talking about his home city.

‘Legend has it that Sevilla was founded by Hercules.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a beautiful city. The minaret of La Giralda, the cathedral, the Alcázar palace, the María Luisa park, the Triana bridge over the Guadalquívir, the narrow streets around the church of Santa Ana…And remember, it is the city of Carmen, Don Juan and Figaro. History, food, art…’ He waved his hands. ‘Sevilla has it all.’

He clearly adored his home city. She couldn’t help asking, ‘So why are you here?’ Why hadn’t he stayed at home in Seville?

‘Because there are work opportunities for me in England that simply aren’t there in Spain. And—’ He broke off. ‘May I order for us now?’

‘Fine.’

‘What would you like for dessert?’

‘I’ll pass, thanks.’

When he came back, he gave her a guilty smile. ‘I think you’re about to be angry with me.’

‘Why?’

‘There was a specials board by the bar. I ordered us dessert from it. But if you hate it, you’re under no obligation to eat it.’

Ordering for her without asking first—just like Andrew. And yet Ramón had offered her a choice. Take it or leave it, as she pleased. There would be no anger, no smouldering sulk that she’d gone against his wishes.

‘Am I that scary?’

She blinked. ‘I…Uh. No.’

‘For a moment you looked terrified.’

‘You must be seeing things.’ She wasn’t going to share those memories. Ever. ‘So where were you before you came to Brad’s?’

‘Sevilla. And before that London for six months. And Manchester and Birmingham before that.’

‘All in paediatrics?’

He nodded. ‘I like working with los niños. Children. What about you?’

‘I’ve always worked at Brad’s.’

‘No, I mean, why the children’s ward?’

Because it was the nearest she’d get to having children of her own. She forced the thought back. ‘I like working with children too,’ she said lightly. ‘It’s very rewarding.’

To her relief, their meal arrived and the subject changed naturally. ‘An excellent choice,’ Ramón said when he’d tasted the salmon. ‘And Jersey Royals. Mmm. I adore these.’

‘So you’re a foodie?’

‘Foodie?’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘Explain.’

‘It means a gourmet. Someone who likes good food.’

He nodded. ‘Life’s too short not to have the best when you can.’

A quick glance at his wrist told her that he meant it. His watch was a seriously expensive make. Then she noticed that his shirt was silk. And his suit was clearly designer cut. She doubted he could afford them on a doctor’s salary—even that of a consultant—so clearly his family had money, too.

So what was he doing out with her?

This wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. This was just an extension of work. She was obeying Pete’s memo to the letter.

Ramón seemed to sense that she was uneasy because he changed the subject, telling her more about his home city and the children he’d worked with. She’d just started to relax with him when the waiter cleared their plates and brought a small pottery container to the table. He lit a tea-light candle in its centre and Jennifer looked at Ramón. ‘What’s this?’

‘Wait and see.’ Mischief lurked in his eyes.

On cue, the waiter placed a bubbling bowl of white chocolate fondue on top of the tea-light, then brought a platter of tiny sponge cakes and strawberries with two forks, which Ramón appropriated immediately.

‘This is the nearest they had to chocolate and churros.’

‘Spanish pudding?’ she guessed.

‘No, that’s flan—what you would call crème caramel. Or a dish of sweet oranges. But we had a light meal tonight, so I thought we could get away with this.’

Definitely a killer smile, Jennifer thought. She needed coffee. Or a bucket of iced water thrown over her head. Something—anything—to stop the way her knees were turning to jelly, the way her body reacted to this man.

‘Here.’ He speared a strawberry on the long fork, dipped it in white chocolate and held it to her lips. ‘This is perfection.’

All the tables around them were full. They were in the middle of a very public place. So why did it feel so intimate? Why did it feel as if he was the only other person in the city besides her? And why did she feel that he was offering her something more than the strawberry—something much more personal?

The strawberry was definitely a mistake, Ramón thought, because the moment she bit into it, the sensual awareness in her eyes turned to sheer blind panic.

Why was she so afraid? Of him? But surely she knew he would never hurt her? Regretfully, he relinquished the fork. ‘English strawberries have a certain something. It’s like eating sunlight, don’t you think?’

Gradually, the panic in her eyes receded. Though he noticed that she didn’t eat anything else. ‘Do you dislike strawberries?’ he asked.

‘It’s not that. They’re lovely. I’m just…full.’

In other words, he’d pushed her so hard that she’d lost her appetite. And the guilt in turn made him lose his. He ignored the fondue and the cake and just ate the strawberries. ‘Too sweet,’ he said in response to her enquiring glance.

‘I thought all Spaniards had an incredibly sweet tooth?’

He smiled. ‘It’s the Moorish influence. I admit that, yes, I do have a weakness for sticky pastries made with honey. And proper hot chocolate—made the Spanish way.’

She pulled a face. ‘Sounds a bit sickly.’

‘If you have too much, yes. The trick is knowing when to stop.’

Wise advice—but advice that he couldn’t heed. He knew he should stop this now, leave Jennifer be…But he couldn’t. He wanted more. Much more. ‘Coffee?’

‘Not for me, thanks.’

‘Then I’ll see you back to your car.’

‘Ramón, it’s very sweet of you, but there’s no need. It’s perfectly safe.’

‘Even so, I’d prefer to see you safely to your car. Humour me? You could always tell me about the buildings on our way back. Teach me about your city.’

She nodded. ‘Let’s get the bill.’

He was careful to let her pay her way—he knew that if he ignored her feelings now, she’d refuse to come out with him again—and they walked back through the quiet streets to the hospital car park. Jennifer pointed out buildings of note on the way—the church in the market place with stunning stained-glass windows, an art deco shopping arcade, the old toll-house which had once been where the citizens had paid their taxes but was now the tourist information office.

If anyone had asked him what she’d said, he would have just shrugged and said he had no idea. What he’d really noticed had been the way her eyes changed colour, more blue than grey when she was interested in something. The fullness of her lower lip, so promising and so tempting. The way little lines fanned from the corner of her eyes when she smiled. He’d never been so aware of a woman before. He wanted to pull her into his arms, bend her back slightly and kiss her until they were both breathless.

And yet…there had been that panic in her eyes. Jennifer Jacobs was a challenge. A challenge he wanted to meet. To win. Which meant that he had to take it slowly. Softly. Gently.

When they reached her car, he smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Jennifer, for a lovely evening.’

‘That’s OK. Do you want a lift back to your flat?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a five-minute walk at most. The exercise will do me good.’ He took her hand and drew it to his mouth. Her eyes widened but he held her gaze—he needed her to know that he wasn’t going to hurt her and she was safe with him. Right now, yes, he wanted to kiss her properly. Mouth to mouth. Sliding his fingers into her hair, his tongue against hers, pulling her close against his body so she could feel how much she turned him on. But she wasn’t ready for that and he wasn’t going to force her. He kissed the tips of her fingers, then folded them down into her palm. ‘Goodnight, cariña,’ he said softly.

Jennifer was shaking when she got into the car. She was still shaking as she drove home. Ramón had barely touched her and yet her whole body had reacted to him, reacted to the promise in his dark, expressive eyes. Reacted to the amber sparks of passion he’d let her see, just for a moment, then damped down again as he’d kissed her fingertips.

It was all show. He probably did this to every woman he came into contact with.

Hell, hell and double hell. She really couldn’t let anything happen between them. It would make life too complicated at work. And she didn’t want to be a holiday romance, a brief affair. She didn’t want for ever either. She’d already done that, worn the T-shirt and paid a heavy penance. She wasn’t going to give up her freedom again.

So she’d just have to stay away from him as much as she could.

Friday was easier, as Meg was back and Jennifer managed to avoid Ramón. She was off over the weekend; and although she half expected that Ramón would track her down to her bolthole, he didn’t. She wasn’t sure whether she was more relieved or disappointed.

On the Monday morning she was busy dealing with the handover when he came on duty, and he was already examining a new patient when she’d finished, leaving her free to carry out her normal duties without interruption. But although her mind was definitely concentrating on her job, her body wasn’t. It was too aware of the handsome Spaniard sitting a few metres away in his office.

‘There’s some good news, Mr Garrett. The X-ray results are clear,’ Ramón said.

‘So what’s wrong with Tim?’

‘It is something called Osgood-Schlatter disease.’

‘Disease? It can’t be.’ Garrett shook his head. ‘He only had a knock on the football field. I told him there was nothing broken and he was being a wuss about it.’

Just what he could do without: a pushy parent who wouldn’t put the child’s needs first. Ramón bit back the scorn he would dearly have loved to express, and gently examined the teenager’s leg. ‘Is this painful, Tim?’

‘Not too bad.’

‘Hey. No bravado. On a scale of one to ten, with one being just a little bit and ten being unbearable?’

Tim glanced at his father, then back at Ramón. ‘One.’

That glance told Ramón everything. If only there was some way of getting Mr Garrett out of his office, so Tim had the space to tell the truth. He’d just have to do the best he could. What was it Jennifer had said? You had to sum up the parents, find out how they handled things. Garrett was a know-all. So Ramón would blind him with science.

‘There’s a soft tissue swelling over the tibial tuberosity. This often happens in young athletes during a period of rapid growth. It’s caused by the pull of the quadriceps, which join with the patellar tendons running through the knee into the tibia. When the quadriceps contract, the patellar tendons start to pull away from the shinbone. That causes the pain.’

‘I’d prefer that in English,’ Garrett said cuttingly.

Ramón just about stopped himself scowling. Don’t say the man had something against doctors who weren’t English, too? ‘All right. You see this bump on his shinbone, just below his knee?’

‘It’s just a bump.’

‘It’s inflamed. It hurts when Tim bends or straightens his knee. The muscles in the front of his thigh join to the tendons which connect the muscles to his knee.’

‘So he’s pulled a tendon.’

‘No. It’s partly to do with the growth plates in his bones. When he stops growing, the tendons will become stronger and the pain and swelling will go away.’

‘So what are you saying? That he can’t play football?’

‘Not for a while.’

Garrett made a noise of disgust. ‘That’s impossible. There’s a talent scout coming to the club next week. If Tim doesn’t play, he’ll miss his chance.’

‘If he plays, he could end up with permanent damage to his knees. There will be other chances to see this scout.’

‘Not like this, there won’t! I’ve worked hard for it and I’m not having it ruined by you. I want a second opinion.’

‘By all means you can see Dr Burroughs, but he will tell you exactly the same.’

‘In it together, are you? Well, I want to see someone at the top.’

Ramón gave him a wintry smile. ‘You already are. I’m the consultant.’

‘Then I’ll see your boss.’

Just as Ramón was about to ask Garrett what was more important, his son’s health or football, there was a rap on the door. ‘Dr Martínez? I believe you wanted Tim’s radiography results.’

‘Thank you, Sister Jacobs. I was just explaining to Mr Garrett that Tim has Osgood-Schlatter disease.’ He glanced at the film. ‘There’s calcification within the patellar tendon and irregular ossification of the proximal tibial tuberosity.’

‘Doctors!’ Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘If you want a translation, Tim, that means the bump at the top of your shinbone isn’t growing properly. But I guess you already knew that.’ She looked at his leg. ‘How long has it been like that?’

‘A month.’

‘A week, tops,’ Garrett cut in.

Ramón and Jennifer exchanged a glance.

‘I’ll refer you to an orthopaedic specialist, Tim,’ Ramón said. ‘For now you need to put ice on your knee for twenty minutes every three to four hours for the next two days. I can give you some anti-inflammatory tablets which will help to deal with the pain. But no sport.’

‘When can I play again?’ Tim asked, with another glance at his father.

‘When you’ve healed. I’d say in two to four months. No deep knee bending, and if you have any more pain you need to stop what you’re doing immediately and rest. Put ice on it, wrap an elastic bandage round it and elevate your leg.’

‘If you overstrain it,’ Jennifer said, ‘your knee will get worse and it will be harder to treat, so it’ll get to the point where you won’t be able to play again. Ever.’ She looked at Garrett. ‘So your son wants to be a professional footballer?’

‘He’s supposed to be playing in front of the talent scout next week.’

‘Sorry, Tim. That’s rotten luck.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘But if you rest your leg now, you’ll be in a better position to see the talent scout in six months’ time.’

‘Doesn’t anyone around here understand how important next week is?’ Garrett demanded.

‘Yes. But I’m sure you’ll agree—as Tim’s coach, I presume?—that his health is more important. Everyone recovers from injury at a different rate, but if he goes back too soon it could lead to permanent damage. So isn’t it better to wait for six months and give him a chance than to go for next week and risk Tim not playing up to his usual game and maybe wrecking his knee for good?’ Jennifer asked.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Garrett said. ‘I knew we should have gone private.’

‘A private hospital would have told you exactly the same as Dr Martínez,’ Jennifer said. ‘Tim needs to wait until his knee’s no longer tender before he even thinks about going back onto the football field.’

‘As his coach, you can help by making sure he has a proper warm-up routine, especially for his thigh, hamstring and calf muscles,’ Ramón said. ‘When he can straighten and bend his knee without pain, jog without limping and finally jump without pain, then he can go back into training.’

‘I can’t believe this.’ Garrett looked ready to thump something. The wall, a desk—or perhaps the doctor who stood before him.

‘Let me take you into my office for a cup of coffee,’ Jennifer said with a warm smile. ‘It’s quieter there and it’ll give you time to take it all in while Dr Martínez straps up Tim’s leg.’

For a moment Ramón thought Garrett was about to refuse. But then he sighed, nodded and followed Jennifer out of the room.

Without his father’s presence, Tim was more truthful about the pain and how long it had been going on. By the time Tim’s leg was strapped up, Garrett returned.

‘I, um, want to apologise. About earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude. I was worried about my boy,’ he said gruffly.

‘No problem,’ Ramón said. ‘But you need to stick to the regime until Tim is well again.’

‘I know. R-I-C-E,’ Garrett said. ‘Rest, ice, compression, elevation. I am a qualified trainer, you know.’

Which made it even worse in Ramón’s eyes. As a professional, Garrett should know not to push his son’s body beyond its limits. But now wasn’t the time for censure. ‘Good luck. And if you have any worries, come back and see me,’ Ramón said. ‘The orthopaedics team will be in touch in the next week.’

Once the Garretts had gone, Ramón went in search of Jennifer. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Are you a mind-reader?’

‘No. He was pretty loud,’ Jennifer said. ‘And I thought someone ought to step in to stop you two killing each other.’

‘I would never resort to violence,’ Ramón said haughtily.

‘I was speaking metaphorically.’

‘Sorry. I owe you an apology, as well as thanks.’

She shrugged. ‘I can handle alpha males.’

‘Alpha males?’

‘Big and bossy,’ she elaborated.

He grinned. ‘So what did you do to Garrett?’

‘Listened,’ she said. ‘I had a hunch.’

‘And?’

‘Sometimes,’ Jennifer said, ‘people want to live the lives they never had through other people.’

Ramón folded his arms. ‘And…?’

‘He’d missed out being talent-spotted at Tim’s age, so he wanted to make sure that Tim had the chances he never had.’

‘Even if Tim doesn’t really want to be a professional footballer?’

‘Toby just needs time to think about it.’

‘Toby?’

‘Tim’s father.’

Oh. So they were on first-name terms already? Jealousy twisted in Ramón’s gut. No way was he letting that bully loose on his Jennifer.

‘Anything you wanted in particular? I have some obs to do,’ Jennifer said.

‘Of course.’ He paused. ‘But I want to thank you properly. Have lunch with me?’

‘Thanks, but there’s really no need. I was just doing my job.’

Her voice was quiet but determined. He realised that if he insisted now, he’d lose her. But he wasn’t going to give up. He was just going to take a different route. And he knew exactly where to start.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE next morning, Jennifer opened her desk drawer to find a neatly wrapped box sitting on top of her roster sheets. Odd. It wasn’t her birthday and any presents from grateful parents were always shared among the ward staff. Frowning, she looked at the card. The bold black script simply said, ‘Gracias. R.’

When she undid the ribbon and removed the paper, she discovered a box of very exclusive chocolates. Her favourites. Ones she never bought herself. The only person who ever bought them for her was Meg, at Christmas and for her birthday.

Why was Ramón buying her chocolates? Or had he done it for all the ward staff? No, surely not—he’d only been with them a week, and she hadn’t heard that he was cutting his secondment short.

She got the chance to ask him three hours later, when she was sitting with Sophie, an eight-year-old girl who had had a tonsillectomy, and teaching her how to draw horses.

‘Buenas días, señorita,’ Ramón said with a broad grin. ‘And how’s my favourite girl today?’

Jennifer stared at him in shock. He couldn’t possibly be this blatant! But, no…of course not. He was talking to their patient.

‘How are you feeling today, Sophie?’

‘My throat’s sore,’ Sophie croaked. ‘And Sister JJ made me eat toast for breakfast.’

‘For a good reason, I assure you,’ Ramón told her. ‘And that’s a very good picture you’ve drawn.’

‘Sister JJ’s teaching me. Look—she drew a sketch of me, too,’ Sophie said, passing the sketchbook to Ramón.

He glanced at the book. ‘A woman of hidden talents. I didn’t know you could draw so well, Sister Jacobs.’

There had been a time when she’d intended to make her career in art. But that had been a long, long time ago. Another world. In the days BA—Before Andrew. ‘Um, it came in handy for my exams.’

As if he sensed how embarrassed she was, he changed the topic. ‘Sophie, while I’m here I may as well check your throat, see how you’re healing,’ he said.

Sophie nodded. ‘I just open my mouth and say, “Ah”?’

‘That’s right.’ He smiled, and placed a depressor gently on her tongue so he could shine a light down her throat. ‘Good. Very good. I think that calls for jelly and ice cream today, Sister Jacobs.’

‘I’ll make a note of it.’ Jennifer smiled at the girl. ‘And I’d better go and see some of my other patients before Dr Martínez tells me off.’

‘He won’t do that,’ Sophie said confidently. ‘He’s too nice.’

‘Why, thank you, señorita.’ Ramón gave her a formal bow.

Jennifer left the cubicle. ‘Dr Martínez, may I have a word, please?’

‘It’s Ramón,’ he reminded her.

She flushed. ‘I just wanted to say thank you for the chocolates.’

‘Pleasure,’ he said. ‘You helped me out of a sticky situation yesterday. I wanted to show my appreciation.’

‘Anyone else on the ward would have done the same.’

‘No. Only you,’ he said softly. ‘Will you have lunch with me today?’

‘No.’

‘I know, you don’t like being obligated. How about if you buy me lunch, so I’m the one who’s obligated?’

‘No.’

‘Dinner?’

‘You don’t give up, do you?’ Jennifer asked.

He smiled. ‘I always get what I want in the end.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Is that a threat?’

‘No, cariña, it’s a promise,’ he said softly.

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she wasn’t sure whether it was one of pleasure or just plain fear. Why couldn’t he see that she wanted to be left alone, in her quiet, comfortable life—just her and her cat?

‘Why are you wearing those? They look ridiculous with that dress. Don’t you know anything? Go and put some proper shoes on—ones with high heels.’

She recognised that look on his face. He’d had a bad day. Someone had answered him back. And he was going to make himself feel better in the way he knew best. Putting her down. She knew all that…but it didn’t stop it hurting.

‘Come on, come on, we’re going to be late! I told you to be ready.’

Ready for another business dinner. Another dinner where she’d know nobody—though if she talked to anyone, he’d want to know exactly what she’d said. What the conversation had been about. Whether she’d shown him up or flirted or…

‘Don’t you ever listen to a word I say?’

Yes. Of course she did. But where had her attentive lover gone? The man who’d wanted to cherish her when they’d first met, put her on a pedestal. The one who loved music, who enjoyed wandering through art galleries hand in hand with her. The one who’d said he knew he was too old for her and should give her a chance to meet someone her own age who could make her happy, but he loved her too much to let her go. Where had he gone? And just when had this hurtful, critical impostor taken his place?

Keen to avoid a row, she rushed upstairs to change her shoes. And then wished she hadn’t a couple of moments later.

‘What’s this? Sketching?’ She felt a familiar churning in her stomach as she heard the paper slap onto the table. ‘I hope you’re not thinking about going to college or getting a job.’

‘I was just sketching, that’s all. For me,’ she said softly.

‘They’re not bad. But they’re not up to art-school standard. You’d just be wasting your time, trying to get in. I’m only thinking of you, Petal. How hard it would be to face rejection. You wouldn’t even get an interview at one of the studios. You’re not good enough.’ Not good enough. Not good enough…

Jennifer woke with a cry. She sat up straight, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms round her legs. She hadn’t dreamed of Andrew for months. Hadn’t heard his voice criticising everything she did. She’d used the wrong polish on the table. There were smears on the windows. Not enough salt—or too much—in whatever she cooked. He didn’t like her friends—they were leading her into bad ways and she was easily led. Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough…

She shuddered. She knew why it was all coming back to her. Ramón. Handsome, Spanish…and determined to have his own way. Just like Andrew had been. Somehow she had to make him back off. She was no longer mousy little Jennifer, scared of being on her own and being found wanting by the world. She’d grown up, changed. She was thirty-two years old, working in a senior position in a career she loved. And she was just fine on her own. Tomorrow she would make Ramón understand.

Though she didn’t get the chance. They were both so busy that she barely had time for a lunch-break. And then he caught her in the corridor. ‘Jennifer, I know you’re busy, but could you spare me five minutes, please?’ Clearly her doubts showed on her face because he said, ‘It’s work. Do you have much experience with cystic fibrosis?’

‘Some. How old’s the patient?’

‘Six months.’ He sighed. ‘And the parents have taken the news badly. You know better than I do what kind of help is available locally.’

‘OK. I’ll come now.’

She followed him into his office.

‘Mr and Mrs Stewart, this is Jennifer Jacobs, our senior sister in Paediatrics,’ Ramón said.

Mrs Stewart had clearly been crying.

‘Sister Jacobs, the Stewarts were concerned about little Keiran—he had a big appetite but never seemed to put any weight on,’ Ramón explained. ‘The health visitor noticed that his height and weight crossed three trend lines on the chart, and he’s always had a troublesome cough and slight wheezing. Mrs Stewart had mild asthma as a child and went to her GP to see if that was the problem with Keiran, and the GP sent them here for a sweat test.’

The sweat test, Jennifer knew, was one of the best ways of checking for cystic fibrosis. The child’s skin was covered with a chemical called pilocarpine which made him sweat, and the area was covered with gauze and wrapped in plastic for thirty minutes to collect the sweat. Until very recently, babies hadn’t been screened at birth. Although now the ‘Guthrie test’ blood sample collected at a week old was also used for testing for cystic fibrosis, Keiran had clearly slipped through the net.

‘Keiran’s test showed higher than normal amounts of sodium and chloride in his sweat. And Keiran’s stools are large, greasy and very smelly,’ Ramón continued.

Again, it was a typical symptom of cystic fibrosis—the pancreas couldn’t produce the right enzymes to break down food in digestion, so the child couldn’t digest fats.

‘So we’ve diagnosed cystic fibrosis.’

‘Which means he’s going to die,’ Mrs Stewart whispered.

‘The earlier we diagnose it, the better chance he has,’ Ramón said. ‘Every week, around five babies in the UK are born with cystic fibrosis. Thirty years ago, the average life expectancy was around five years—now it’s closer to forty years and most sufferers lead relatively normal lives.’

‘There isn’t any history of it in our family,’ Mr Stewart said.

‘It’s possible to be a carrier without having any symptoms,’ Ramón told him.

‘One person in twenty-five carries the gene. If both parents are carriers, there’s a one in four chance the child will have it, and a one in two chance he’ll be a carrier,’ Jennifer said. ‘Do you have any other children?’

‘No. He’s our first,’ Mrs Stewart said. ‘Does that mean if we have other babies, they’ll have cystic fibrosis, too?’

‘Not necessarily, though the risk is the same as Sister Jacobs said. One in four that a baby will have it, and one in two that the baby will be a carrier.’

‘We can arrange for you to talk to a counsellor who specialises in genetic disorders,’ Jennifer said gently. ‘She can help you decide what you want to do in the future.’

‘What does the disease do to him?’ Mr Stewart asked.

‘Cystic fibrosis is an inherited disorder of the digestive and respiratory system,’ Ramón explained. ‘His body can’t break down food properly, so it doesn’t absorb all the nutrients he needs—that’s why he isn’t growing as much as he should. His body also has a problem with a protein called CFTR, or cystic fibrosis transmembrane conductance regulator, which moves salt and water over his cell membranes. The mucus in his body becomes thick and sticky, and blocks the air passages to his lungs, which is why he wheezes and coughs. He’s more likely than the average child to catch a cold or have a fever, and this can turn to pneumonia.’

‘So he’s going to die,’ Mrs Stewart said again.

‘If he has no treatment, his lungs will be damaged by chronic infection,’ Ramón said. ‘But there are a lot of things we can do to help.’

‘You’ll need to give him some pancreatic enzymes in his food to help break down the starches, proteins and fats in milk and solid food,’ Jennifer said. ‘He’ll also need extra calories so he gains weight and grows properly, plus extra vitamins A, D and E.’

‘When you wean him, you must give him a variety of foods and extra calories and protein to compensate for the loss of fat and protein in his stools.’

‘Sausages are really good,’ Jennifer added.

‘If you help him become well nourished, he will cope better with infections,’ Ramón said. ‘We can give him steroids to reduce the inflammation in his airways and help his breathing.’

‘Steroids? Aren’t they the things bodybuilders use?’ Mrs Stewart asked, clearly horrified.

‘No, that’s anabolic steroids,’ Jennifer said gently. ‘These are corticosteroids, which are present naturally in the body, so there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘We can also give him a nebuliser so he can inhale drugs that relax his muscles and let his airways open—it’s very similar to asthma medication,’ Ramón said. ‘And when he’s old enough to crawl and walk and run, you must encourage him to exercise to improve the strength of his lungs. Encourage him to do things that make him get out of breath, such as running and swimming and football.’

‘Wheelbarrow racing’s brilliant,’ Jennifer said. ‘He’ll enjoy it so it won’t feel as if you’re making him work hard. It’s a stretching exercise, too, as well as helping to drain the secretions from his lungs.’

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